


Not Today

by arc1908



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, POV Gendry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-25 14:37:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18576505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arc1908/pseuds/arc1908
Summary: Gendry survives, this is what happens





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> once again, i did not revise. if there are mistakes sorry.
> 
> some of the characterizations are not accurate but oh well, it be like that. the important part is gendry is (mostly) right.

The fighting continued for an eternity, yet the night continued. Gendry kept waiting for the sun to rise but he realized the night would last as long as this fight. He grimaced, but kept fighting. There was nothing else they could do. 

He watched his companions fall beside him but did not have time to mourn. He had to set them on fire before they stood up again and turned on him. That was the worst danger now. He could not help but wonder how many people were burning that were still alive. 

After what felt like a century, someone pulled him back. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. He’d been on the front lines since the white walkers charged, had even taken down a couple on his own. 

Behind the lines, he could breathe again, though he knew it was a false peace. They were far from safe. 

Gendry wondered where Arya was. He had no doubt she had taken down many of her own white walkers. He could still feel the warmth of her skin against his, hear her fierce whispering in his ear before the battle, “Don’t die today,” and the smile he won answering, “Yes m’lady.” 

That was the last time he’d seen her. Though he knew she could handle herself, he couldn’t help but worry. They’d had to leave so quickly he hadn’t even had the chance to tell her how he felt. 

Listening to the screams of the living, he sighed. He took a deep sip of the water and forced some food down, though he had no appetite. He would have to return soon and did not want to pass out in the middle of fighting and be lit on fire before his time. 

He heaved the giant hammer back to his shoulder and went to find someone else to replace. 

 

 

Gendry could not quite believe he was alive. The battle was over. Light filtered through thick, grey clouds, but the endless night was over. They might not have won, but he had survived. Most of Winterfell had died on these lines, but Gendry didn’t. Despite what he’d said to Arya, he didn’t quite believe any of them would survive.

Arya. He had to find her, tell her the truth, how he felt. Nothing mattered anymore. Though he was more tired than he’d ever imagined he could be, he had to find her. She meant more to him than anyone he’d ever known. 

He jumped up with new energy, determine to find her. It didn’t occur to him that she might be dead.

But when he entered the courtyard, he saw her body on the ground, laying amongst more of the fallen, as if waiting to be burned. 

He did not know what he did after that, his memory of those moments gone, but then he was by her side, on his knees. He could feel tears welling in his eyes, though they did not fall yet. He took her hand in his, feeling it’s warmth. It’s warmth. He wiped the tears from his eyes, watching her chest rise and fall. 

She’s alive, he thought, trying not to squeeze her hand too hard. His other hand moved on its own, gently stroking her face, feeling the grit that had built up in her hair. 

“She took a hit to her head,” a voice behind him said. Gendry jumped up, dropping her hand and turning to the newcomer. It was Jon. He was frowning, though Arya was his little sister and as far as Gendry knew, no one had found out about the night before. 

“Will she be okay?” Gendry asked.

“She should,” was all he said. Gendry knew he was in mourning. Too many had died. Gendry was lucky enough not to be close to anyone for it to hurt too bad, but he knew a lot of the Night’s Watch had fallen to the dragon. They were Jon’s family as much as Arya was. The bastard of Winterfell had bent down to check on Arya, but now turned away. 

“See that she gets to her room,” he said, not looking back. Gendry was surprised that the man would walk away from his sister like that. Maybe he was trusted more than he’d thought. 

He pulled Arya into his arms, gently cradling her head. Though he was sore from the battle, she was not a burden on him. He loved being able to hold her, feel her chest rise and fall. 

He followed the twists and turns of the castle he barely knew, towards the one area he hadn’t really been: the Stark’s bedchambers. He stood in front of the first heavy wooden door, unsure how to open it without setting her down. 

“That’s not hers,” a voice called. “She’s second to last,” Sansa Stark said from the other end. She looked exhausted, favoring one side, eyes red from tears. She lead him to the door, holding it open for him. 

He thanked her, gently laying Arya onto the big bed, then burying her in the furs. 

He thought Sansa had left, but she came up behind him and sat beside her sister, gently brushing the hair out of her eyes. 

“Do you love her?” She asked suddenly, turning to meet Gendry’s eyes. 

“I- uh-” he stuttered, at a loss for words. He knew the answer, but this was not the Stark he wanted to tell. 

“I do,” Sansa continued. “She’s my baby sister.” 

“Arya’s- She’s-” he tried again but still failed. 

“I don’t know you,” she said. “But my brother’s both trust you. And Arya… She doesn’t speak about you at all, which means she either cannot stand you or she cares even more about you than she knows.” 

“I don’t think she hates you,” she added when Gendry still didn’t answer. “But you still haven’t answered my question. Do you love her?” She had turned back to her sister, but now met his eyes again. 

“Yes,” he finally answered. Sansa was quiet a while, turning back to her sister and taking her hand. She squeezed it, then stood. 

“You should get some rest,” she said as she left the room. 

As soon as she was gone, Gendry turned back to Arya. She looked so much smaller than she had the night before, her features softer than they were when she was conscious. Seven hells, she looked so fragile. He found a chair and pulled it up beside her bed. 

He was tired and he knew he should heed Sansa’s advice, but all he could think of was Arya. He didn’t want her to be alone. And he never wanted to be parted from her again. He forgot about the Starks, the dead, and the war. In that room, the only people that existed were him and Arya.

Her hand lay in his, the warmth reassuring him that she was not dead. He could feel each heart beat in her wrist, and he watched her breathe.

“Don’t die today,” he whispered to her as she slept on.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gendry continues do like he do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who actually edited their work??
> 
> wow im a legend i know
> 
> anyways im aware nothing really happens in this chapter but stick with me. one day it'll get good. also i made sure to get pretty far in the next chapter before posting this so that ya'll dont have to wait too long
> 
> anyways enjoy

Gendry woke up to doors banging. He sat up, groaning. His back ached from laying in such an uncomfortable position. He was still in the chair, Arya’s hand in his. He released her hand, standing up and stretching, feeling all the aches from the battle. He went to the window to see that it was still daylight. Or maybe he’d slept for a day.

Arya still lay in bed, unmoving save for the rise and fall of her chest. He remembered years ago, when she couldn’t sleep before she’d recited those names. Joffrey, Cersei, Ser Meryn Trant, Ser Ilyn Payne. He wondered how many she’d gotten to cross off. 

He knew he should leave. He should have left hours ago, after Sansa did, but he still wanted to be beside her when she woke up. 

But it could be days before she woke, and he needed eat, change, and sleep. He bent over her, kissing her forehead quickly and squeezing her hand a final time. 

“I’ll be back,” he promised, before leaving the room. He felt as though he’d left his heart behind. 

 

He cleaned up, feeling better after wiping the grime and blood away, eating and drinking some. He chatted with some of the men from the forge that had survived but his heart was still in that room. As soon as he left, he wanted to go back. 

He finished eating, leaving the men at the table. Everyone was still in shock that they were still alive. Those who had survived. 

He was on his way back to his own chambers when Jon’s voice called out to him. He turned to see the man approaching him. Jon was still dressed for battle, though he’d taken his armor off. 

“Arya?” He asked. 

“She’s in her room. Sansa’s seen her too,” he paused. There was an emptiness in the air, a name that should follow but did not. “Jon-”

“Get some rest,” he cut him off. “We’ll talk in the morning.” 

“About what? We lost, Jon. Bran-” 

“We’re still alive,” Jon said quietly. “We haven’t lost yet.” 

Gendry didn’t have the energy to argue with him. As fas as he was concerned, they were screwed. They didn’t have an army anymore. They might have survived the night, but it didn’t mean they were going to survive the war. 

He continued, leaving Jon on his own. His head spun a little, making it hard to think straight. He needed sleep. 

When he got to his room he practically collapsed onto his bed, but when he closed his eyes though, he saw her again. He remembered every detail about the night before, her skin so soft against his callused hands, her short hair falling into her face. If he concentrated hard enough, he could still smell her, as though she lay beside him. He opened his eyes half expecting to see her there. It was impossible to sleep with that memory in his head. 

He tossed and turned for what felt like hours before he finally gave up. He dressed quickly in the dark, not paying much mind to what he put on. He needed to get some fresh air.

Winterfell was silent now, the middle of the night, the only sounds were gentle snores from behind closed doors and the shuffling of the night’s guard. He nodded to them; though not a lord, he was a familiar face. Everyone’s was now. 

He crossed the courtyard, climbing to the battlements. There was a gentle snowfall, nothing like the battle before. The wall had been swept, bodies cleared and snow shoveled away, though bloodstains could still be seen. There was still a great fire where the bodies were being burned, at least a mile away. 

Gendry stood atop the wall, breathing the night air. It cut into his chest, but he found the pain grounding, bringing his tired mind back to his body. He’d been in a blur, but the night air cleared his mind. 

The snow, the cold, only reminded him there was only one place he wanted to be. The snowflakes fell gently, brushing his cheeks like strands of hair, reminding him of the night before. He began again with a new purpose, steps quicker, mind clear once again. 

He crossed the courtyard once more, acknowledging the guardsmen. He headed back to the lords corridor, surprised to hear voices. A guard stopped him, crossing his spear across Gendry’s chest. 

“Let him through,” Sansa called, pausing her argument with Jon. The siblings were across from each other, in the doorways of their respective rooms. Gendry paused, unsure whether he should continue. Sansa gestured for him to go on. She glared at Jon, waiting until Gendry had shut the heavy door before continuing to argue. He could faintly hear their voices still, but he ignored them once he saw her. 

She was still asleep, though someone had sent a handmaiden in to wash her and change her clothes. She looked so peaceful, he almost didn’t want to move. But the chair was still there. He took his place again, her hand in his, and he settled in.

He heard a faint whine then, and nearly jumped out of his skin. Someone had let in a massive wolf, even bigger than Arya. He vaguely remembered Arya mentioning one to him, named after a queen… Nymeria, that was it. The dire wolf moved silently, pausing at Gendry, sniffing him suspiciously, but choosing not to tear him apart. 

She jumped up to lay beside the young woman, curling beside her.

“You miss her too?” He asked softly. The wolf stared at him with deep, piercing eyes that somehow answered him. He tentatively reached out and gave the wolf a pat on the head. It didn’t rip his hand off, which he was grateful for. He wasn’t daring enough to try again. He just took her hand in his once again and began the wait.

He didn’t even know what he was going to do when she woke up. He just knew he had to be there when it happened.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm bad at these but um future talks?

Gendry woke up in an uncomfortable chair with his back sore for the second time. But he’d gotten sleep. He still felt the warmth of Arya’s hand within his, a comforting reminder she still breathed. 

As he shook the sleep from his eyes, he realized they were not the only ones in the room. Sansa sat in another chair, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Gendry thought she was asleep, but as he sat up, her eyes snapped open and focused on him. 

For a moment she didn’t recognize him and Gendry was afraid she’d kill him, grey-blue eyes icy and cold. Then she relaxed and he could almost believe he imagined it. 

“Any changes?” He asked, though it seemed as though nothing had changed. Even Nymeria was unmoved, keeping her vigil over Arya’s body. 

Sansa shook her head. Gendry saw that he was wrong. She hand’t been sleeping, but crying her eyes red rimmed. 

“Have you found any other survivors?” He asked. Many had fled, escaping to the woods when the battle seemed hopeless. He couldn’t blame them. 

“They come back on their own,” she said rather vaguely. He knew why. She’d lost people. Everyone had, but some could at least hope they could come back. But Sansa… 

Gendry dropped the subject, turning back to Arya. He sat there for a long while, both him and Sansa in silence, listening the the quiet breathing of all in the room. 

Jon finally broke the silence, pushing the heavy door open. Gendry and Sansa turned to face him. He wore the same dark expression on his face. He nodded to Gendry and Sansa, who ignored him, shouldering past him and leaving. Gendry watched them, remembering how long they’d fought the night before. 

Jon sighed, watching his sister leave, before turning to face Gendry and Arya.

“Come Nymeria,” she called to the massive wolf. Nymeria moved hesitantly, but she eventually followed Sansa as if she knew it was best. 

“The same?” He asked. Gendry nodded. Jon took Sansa’s place, taking Arya’s other hand.

Jon watched his little sister for a long time without speaking, but his silence was different than Sansa’s. It was heavy in the air, and Gendry could feel it weighing down. He almost wished Jon would leave so he could be alone with Arya. 

But Jon was her big brother, and Gendry… Gendry wasn’t even sure what he was. 

“The Night King marches South,” Jon finally said. He met the other man’s eyes, though his hand still held Arya’s. 

“Daenarys returned?” Gendry asked, surprised he hadn’t heard any commotion. Both Rhaegal and Drogon had survived the fight, and two dragons as big as hers would have made quite an impression returning to Winterfell.

“This morning, while you… slept,” Jon said. 

“So he’s definitely left us?” Gendry asked Jon nodded in response. “Any sign of Bran?” 

“No,” the Northerner replied. “Daenarys had to leave before it got too dangerous. She only stayed long enough to make sure they were not turning around.” 

Gendry did not miss the formal way Jon said her name, as though she were the Queen and he was only Warden of the North. It appeared Gendry and Arya were not the only ones with secrets from the night before. 

“At least we’re safe. For now,” Gendry added. He didn’t know what they were supposed to do. Then again he was only a smith, he shouldn’t need to know.

But you’re not, a voice in his head said. You’re the king’s bastard. He knew it didn’t mean he was royalty. But he only had to look across the bed to see that being a bastard did not mean that he was no one.

“We’ll never be safe so long as the Night King continues,” Jon said, in a tired tone. Gendry realized he probably hadn’t slept yet. The man looked exhausted. 

“You’re right,” Gendry said. Jon met his eyes. “We need to know exactly what happened with Bran.” 

“What happened to Bran?” A new voice asked. Not a new voice, her voice could never be new. Gendry suddenly felt every beat of his heart as he turned. 

She had only opened her eyes, and looked thoroughly confused, though Gendry noted she didn’t pull her hand away from his. 

Gendry couldn’t answer, awestruck, though she didn’t even look at him. She turned to her brother, eyes wide, a tenderness there he hadn’t seen since the night before. He could still see her in his mind’s eye, completely naked in front of him, in more than just clothing. There was so much he wanted to talk to her about, but Seven Hells, he was just happy she was awake. 

“What happened to Bran?” She repeated. Jon dropped his eyes, squeezing her hand.

“He was in the Godswood,as we planned, Theon beside him,” Jon began. “I don’t know how the Night King got past the wall, but he did.”

“I remember,” Arya interrupted. Jon shot a look at her. “I saw him. I tried to kill him.” 

“Seven hells, Arya,” Gendry whispered. She started, as if she’d just noticed him. 

Both of them were speechless, Gendry simply happy she was moving again, Arya as if she hadn’t expected to see him. The silence grew longer. There was so much Gendry wanted to say, but he had no idea how to say it. 

“And then?” Jon asked. Arya blinked and looked back at her brother, pulling her hands away from both of them so she could sit up. She told both of them how she remembered fighting him, then falling and hitting her head. She spoke simply, with little detail. 

“You didn’t see Bran, then?” Jon asked. Arya shook her head. 

“I saw Theon trying to get him out of the godswood before I attacked, but after that…” the silence was heavy.

“Jon,” she looked directly at him. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. “We found Theon’s body in the godswood and Bran’s chair, but no sign of Bran. No body, no trail.” 

The weight of it fell on Arya. Gendry watched as the mask came back on. She seemed detached, as though she did not care. 

“The Night King?” She asked, after a long pause. 

“Marching South,” Jon answered. “He left the survivors to die to the cold.” 

“Sansa?”

“She’s fine. Mourning Bran and Theon.” 

“Bran’s not dead,” Arya said suddenly. 

“Arya-” Jon began.

“He’s not,” she said firmly. 

“We can discuss this later, after you get some rest,” Jon said. 

“I don’t need rest. I-” She was cut off as the doors were heaved open. 

“Out, all of you!” Maester Wolkan began pushing Jon and Gendry out. Both men tried to argue, but the maester was quick, and before either of them knew it, they were in the hall and the door slammed in their face. 

Jon and Gendry shared a glance. They both decided it would be better to leave the maester to deal with Arya. 

Gendry returned to the forges, not sure where else he should be. He started working, needing to move. She’s okay, he repeated over and over in his head. She’s okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda disappointing i'm aware. it's a bit of a slow burn (kinda)
> 
> anyways I want to thank everyone who's been commenting it's really pushing me to finish
> 
> i promise it will, there should only be a few more now
> 
> i'm warning you i might leave it on a cliffhanger (or at the very least not tie up all the loose ends). please forgive me. This was supposed to be a mini gendrya story and now well it's still gendrya but there are other people too


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day who am i
> 
> anyways forgive me in advance idk how to write

It had been three days since he’d seen her. His days settled back into a routine, wake up, eat, work, sleep, over and over. It seemed Jon did not want them to give up the fight yet, despite literally only had a few hundred survivors, many of whom could not wield a sword. 

But Gendry understood. There was no other option. To give up would mean death for everyone who managed to survive so far. 

Not many smiths had survived. Not many of anyone survived. The days in the forge were spent in silence, mourning those they’d lost and worrying about the future. 

Gendry thought of Arya. Maester Wolkan had ordered her on bedrest. Gendry could only imagine how he got Arya to stay in bed. The thought brought a smile to his face. But he’d also restricted all visitors. Gendry’d heard that only Sansa had managed to get past. 

He wished he could go to her. The first day he’d spent in ecstatic relief, that she was going to be okay, but two days had passed since then, and Gendry wanted to see her. He had only just gotten her back. He struggled now, knowing she was so close yet still impossibly far. 

He put the yearning in his heart went into his work. He’d seen her old weapon shattered in the courtyard. He’d make her a new one, a better one, that wouldn’t break. 

It took him all morning to make the design, and then all afternoon to rework it after he completely changed his mind

Another day passed without her and Gendry only worked harder. He’d made her first weapon in a few hours, but it had failed her. This one would not. 

He knew it was unreasonable to continue working on one piece for so long, but there were many knives and swords left over from the battle, never to be wielded again. The dead had no use for them. Arya was not dead. He might not be able to see her, but he could still be there for her.

He spent two days working her weapon, working through the final night to finish it, but the result made him more proud than the bull helmet he’d made so long ago. 

It was essentially the same, a double bladed staff, but he’d managed to make all of it out of dragonglass. The first weapon had a wooden staff between dragonglass daggers, but this one was made of dragonglass melted down and poured into one mold. He was worried it might be too thin and shatter, but it felt stronger than any metal he’d used, save for Valyrian steel. 

He worked the long leather grip in next, before shaping the ends, making the blade even longer, so that it was almost a double edged sword on each end of the weapon. He was proudest of the fact that he managed all of this and kept the weapon shorter than Arya, so that she’d be able to spin it easily. He polished it over and over again before he realized how late it was.

In the dead of night, Gendry returned to his quarters, the weapon still in his hand. He couldn’t put it down. He knew it was irrational, but he kept worrying someone might take it, though no one would really have a use for it other than Arya. 

More than that, it was something of her that he could keep with him. A reminder that he would see her again. 

Gendry fell into bed. He’d found it nearly impossible to sleep, tossing and turning for hours, then waking up at the smallest sound. He almost surprised when he drifted off rather quickly. 

 

He woke up during the night for the thousandth time, though he was not sure why. Then he heard the quietest sound, the swishing of cloth on stone. A candle still flickered beside his bed but it was not nearly enough light to shine on the entire room. He reached for the dagger he kept beside his bed, the dragonglass cold in his hands. 

He watched the shadows on the far side of his room move, coming closer. 

“Who goes there?” He asked the darkness, flashing his blade. He remembered the red woman and the stories of the monster that had killed Renly Boratheon. My uncle, he thought detachedly. 

“I’ve been stabbed before, I’d prefer not to be stabbed again,” the shadows answered.

“Arya?” Gendry asked incredulously. She stepped closer, dressed in simple cloths and furs, unlike the leather’s she normally wore. “How did you get away from Maester Wolkan?” Why did you come here? He wanted to add, but couldn’t get the courage to. 

She shrugged. “I grew up here. I know this castle better than him.” Gendry watched her as she moved closer, as gracefully as ever. He set the dagger down and sat up, pulling the furs on the bed closer to him in the cold of the room. 

Both of them were quiet for a long while. He took her in, studying the different clothes, hair completely down, and for some strange reason, no shoes. She was still Arya, but she was the new Arya, who hid every emotion and seemed as likely to cut your throat as to kiss you. More likely to cut your throat, Gendry thought. 

“You’ve been stabbed?” He asked, her words finally sinking in. 

“Three times,” she held her hand to her side. Gendry had to stop himself from going to her, feeling the scars for himself. He found it impossible to think of anything else, but he finally saw the weapon, glittering faintly. 

“I have something for you,” he said, pushing himself out of bed and into the cold. His feet recoiled at the freezing stone floors, but he ignored it, grabbing the new weapon.

Arya frowned, taking it in her hands and spinning it. 

“This is incredible,” she said, almost to herself. The mask slipped, and Gendry saw the wonder creep into her face. She tossed it from hand to hand, tested the balance, swung it a few times. She came close to Gendry more than once, but he didn’t flinch. 

“I-” She paused. “Thank you.” They were much closer now, Arya’s face within reach. Gendry only wanted to lean down and kiss her again, but the mask had returned, and he found that he could not read this new Arya. Her face gave away no secrets like it had once before. 

He shifted closer “Why did you come to me?” He finally asked, voice barely more than a whisper. 

Arya met his gaze, dark eyes unreadable. She reached up with one hand cupping his cheeks. They were warm against the chill of his own skin. 

“You were the first man that I ever loved,” she said quietly. “When I saw you ride in, I realized something.” As she spoke, he began to see the Arya he once knew again, her mask falling once more. 

Her thumb traced the bones of his cheek. He could feel the ghost of her body against his and more than anything he wanted to pull her into his arms, but he waited. He needed to hear what she had to say. 

“What did you realize?” He asked when she was silent too long. 

“You’re an idiot,” she said with a smile that could melt all of the North. Gendry no longer felt the cold. The warmth of her presence burned away any cold that ever existed. His hands moved on their own, falling to her hips and pulling her even closer to him. 

“I love you,” she whispered in the inches that separated them. Gendry couldn’t stop himself. He leaned down and kissed her, hands moving, to the small of her back, pulling her up. She kissed back, wrapping both arms around his neck. She didn’t push him away this time, letting him fall onto the bed. 

Gendry lost track of everything. The only thing he knew was Arya, alive, very much alive, and very much on top of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARYA STARK IS A TOP I'LL DIE ON THIS HILL
> 
> anyways took us a minute but we're here now so enjoy
> 
> there should only be a few more chapters but i've been saying that to myself for a while so we'll see
> 
> it also depends heavily on what happens on Sunday night :)

**Author's Note:**

> haha y'all thought I would kill her. nah im not that heartless. yet. 
> 
> anyways so i know jon and sansa would definitely not act like this but consider: gendry is cute and i just wanted him to chill out in her room okay
> 
> also my cat has been sleeping on my arm while i wrote this and if i can figure out how i'll post it bc he's cute as hell


End file.
